Make Me Wanna Die
by VioletTendencies
Summary: 5 years after the Harmon Family Tragedy the Murder House is finally about to go back on the market. The ghosts are restless, and this means familiar faces are once again running into each other. After "Birth" M: Language, eventually Violence, Smut
1. Chapter 1

From the window of her former bedroom Violet Harmon watched the 'For Sale' sign rise in the front yard. She knew this would happen eventually. Sooner or later the blood would be cleaned from the floor, the cribs tucked away in the attic, and the spirits in this house would calm down enough for some living soul to wonder in again, thinking they could make this place their home. "That's a load of bullshit." Violet pushed open the window, bringing her last cigarette to her mouth and lighting it. She would have to get ahold of Constance, see if she would pick her up another carton. That was the biggest pain about the house. She couldn't leave. No one could.

"Violet, you shouldn't be standing there. Someone could see you." Violet turned, looking over at her mother, Vivian, as she joined her in the room. She watched her mother give her a disapproving look at the cigarette, but was glad when Vivian didn't complain aloud. It wasn't like they would kill her. The pills had taken care of that. How long had it been? Oh yea, five years. Sometimes it still felt like yesterday that her, her mother and her father had moved into the house. It was so beautiful, so full of potential. Or so they had thought. It was a windowless prison, trapping them exactly how they were for eternity. Even after Violet had known what was happening, even when she knew about the ghost s who's house she shared, she loved the place. But that was because she was young and in love. And it made her so very stupid. Vivian wrapped her arms around her daughter, and Violet leaned back into her mother's embrace. Even though it made her sad that her mother was dead, Violet was glad she wasn't alone. No matter how long she was here, she was still only 15, and she still needed her mother.

"You know, it wouldn't hurt if you left this room, got out with the others." Vivian sounded hesitant, and Violet knew why. This wasn't the first time her mother had offered this bit of advice. Normally Violet would start spewing venom, yell at her mother and tell her to get out of her room and leave her alone. But soon this wouldn't be her room. Soon this would be a young man's office, or an old woman's sewing room. Or the bedroom of another teenage child, doomed to repeat the mistakes of the previous occupants. At the thought of someone else going through what she had gone through Violet shuddered in disgust. No one should have to live like that. Not even the dead. Violet wanted someone to tear the house down, get rid of it. Maybe that would free everyone.

"Not a fucking chance." Violet pulled away from Vivian, following the same cycle they fell into each time. She didn't want to go out there. She had tried that, tried to move about the house and the grounds that were to be her eternal hell. But the moment she walked out of the room there he was. It might have been years, but Violet could remember it like it had just happened. She had meant what she said. She loved him, every part of her soul wanted to be with him. It was her mind that knew better. It was her mind that judged him and found him guilty of crimes too unspeakable to think about. It was her mind that had to punish him. But in a game of head over heart Violet didn't know how long she would last. One day she knew she would break down, think he had suffered enough, and forgive him. They were stuck in this house forever, she couldn't avoid him, and her feelings, for all of eternity. In the beginning it was easier. Her rage was still new. It was as if every scar on her arm had been torn open again, and the mere sight of him was like sticking the bleeding appendage into the salty ocean. Violet could face him because she could tell him how much she hated him, even if it was only half true. The pain he felt, the tears he cried, the times he begged her to forgive him, it made it better for her in the beginning. Violet had no idea if they were true, or just another lie coming from his mouth, but it made the bitter part of her feel better. Righteous and justified. But time does heal the worst of the wounds. Violet learned to accept what had happened to her, to her mother, to her whole family. They were not the first victims of this house, and she knew they wouldn't be the last. But they would be the last to fall victim at his hands. And it was because of this she had to stay away from him, watching only from a distance to make sure he didn't laps. The moment he did would be his last moment in this house. Violet had no idea how she would do it, but she would make sure it happened this time. And for good.

"No one has seen Ta-"

"I don't care. It's bullshit. The second I walk out of here he'll be back. I want to kill him, Mom. I want to chop him into tiny fucking pieces for what he did to us." She said the words, but Vivian could no longer hear the conviction behind them. She was losing her little girl all over again, to the same monster as before. But this time, Vivian wanted it to happen. At least this time she would know the stakes, and they were ones Vivian could handle. And she knew Violet would be happier once all had been resolved. Vivian saw herself in her daughter more and more, and one of the biggest regrets she had was not making things right with Ben before she died. Violet had all the opportunities to make things right with the boy she loved, and she was refusing to take them. He had made mistakes, no one could deny that. But the heart does not care about what someone does. It only care for what it feels. Love is as selfish emotion as it is selfless.

"You can't Violet. You know you can't. And you can't stay in this room for the rest of forever. So come on. Let's go out into the back yard and you can see the sun. Moira just made some tea, I don't even know where she found it after all this time, but it tastes alright." Vivian took Violet's hand, leading her away from the window and towards the door. Violet followed the first few steps, like she always did, but just before the door she stopped. Vivian had expected this, and tugged at Violet's hand. Violet was depressed, Vivian knew the signs, and even though Violet couldn't actually take her life, she could go crazy. There were plenty of ghosts in this house who had lost their minds and were spending their afterlives huddled in corners, unaware of the passing of time or even the fact they were dead. Vivian wouldn't let that happen to her little girl.

"Mom, don't make me go." Violet's voice took on a softer, pleading tone. But Vivian shook her head, reaching out and opening the door. Violet bit down onto the cigarette she was still smoking, biting the filter in half as she fought back tears. She was more than afraid of going out of her old room, she was terrified. Terrified to run into him again, to open the wounds she had painfully stitched back together. But staying in there was just as bad as going out there. If he really wanted in the room with her, there would be no stopping him. He could walk through any locked door, make his way through every barricaded entryway, scale any wall, if he so chose to. And that was something else Violet knew, even if she didn't admit it to herself. He was staying away from her room because he knew as long as she was in there, she didn't want to see him. Leaving her room was waving the white flag. It told him she was fair game once more. At least to Violet that is what it was saying.

"Come on, Violet. How long has it been since you left this room? Weeks? Months?" Vivian sighed, looking back at her daughter's spectral form, and let go of her hand. She wasn't going to force Violet into anything. That sort of thinking was what led them to living in the Murder House, and then their deaths. Her little girl could take care of herself in their afterlife. But she could try and convince her to leave. "You know what today is?" Violet shook her head. Days didn't mean much to her anymore. Only one day really mattered, and that was Halloween. The one day they could leave, be free. Violet had spent the last two years with the Dead Breakfast Club, it at least kept him away from her. Despite the cruel things they had said to her when they met they really were sorry she had died. Everyone was sorry when someone so young lost their life. But Violet knew it wasn't Halloween, Halloween had already passed for the year. So that meant… "It's Thaddeus' birthday tomorrow." Violet did her best to hide the gag when her mother said the name. Why she had named her brother after the most evil being Violet had encountered Violet didn't know. Maybe it was the hold the house had on them all. Maybe it was because of Nora and all the grief she had gone through. No matter the reason Violet couldn't agree with it. Vivian knew she had Violet's attention, and used it to take another step from the room before looking back at Violet pointedly, as if to say 'you wanna talk about this, you'll come with me.'

"Is Dad bringing it here?" Violet asked, taking a step after her mother. Vivian smiled, holding tight to Violet's hand, reminding her she was here for her, forever.

"I don't know. The phones got cut off about a week ago. But probably. He has every other year. Can you believe he's already five?" Vivian smiled, thinking about seeing her boys, the ones who made it out and ignored the way Violet had worded her statement. It was risky, bringing Thaddeus around, but as long as Ben stayed off the grounds they were ok. No one could get the boy, and the boy couldn't get into the house. Violet didn't know why her mother tortured herself that way, only seeing her family from across the street. Waving and shouting greetings to each other. That thing had killed her mother, it tore it's way out and Vivian died there, in the house causing her to be damned just like the rest of them. Violet didn't even like calling it by a name, it would always be an it to her. That thing that ruined their lives. That thing and him. Violet would never torture herself the way her mother did. Which was why she staid locked up in her room, hiding from the one thing that caused her so much pain. And joy.

"Is it really smart for them to keep coming here? Dad can only keep it away from the house for so long. Do we really want it getting in here?"

"Your father thinks it will be best for Thaddeus to grow up knowing what happened, and how we died to make sure he could be happy safe and loved. That he could grow up away from this house, and he could grow up to be good. He's your brother, Violet."

"He's not my brother. It's a freak, it isn't natural. It killed my real brother, just like it's father killed all those people." Violet stopped walking, realizing she was already down the hall and headed for the stairs. This was too far. He could be around any corner, waiting for her. Violet tugged her hand from Vivian's and took off back for her room. The minute she was inside she went to the still open window and tapped on the wind chime that hung there. It was her way to contact Constance, to tell her to come over, that she needed something. More smokes, and now. She stood there until she saw Constance come out of her house and look up and Violet. After all this time the two still only barely got along. Before it had been for him, but now it was for that thing he had created. For better or worse they were all connected, the living and the dead. The balance of life and death playing out in a very literal sense. Once the two had connected eyes, Violet threw herself at her bed and landed on the comforter face first. Constance would be there soon, a pack in her hand where Violet could bum one, and then head to get her more once she knew Violet's request.

Violet heard the footsteps coming down the hall, but didn't roll over. The light, quick steps stopped at her door, but there was no typical knock or call afterwards. Perhaps Constance was having a bad day, those seemed to be going around, and Violet rolled over to ask for a smoke and tell Constance where she could get the money for her next carton. Her mouth was half open before she even saw who was standing in her door. And it wasn't Constance.

"Tate?"


	2. Chapter 2

It had been almost two years since they had even spoken to each other. In the beginning he understood as much as he could. He had been a different person when he did all those bad things, surely she would see that. They were meant to be together. Tate Langdon had clung to that fact for years, it was the only bit of hope he had in this dark and vile place. He had told her she was his light, and he had meant it. His Juliet, his angel. And all these things still rang true, but they were now tinted red, hidden under the veil of his anger. Tate had always been quick to anger, and the fact that he hadn't lashed out in all this time was proof he had changed, that Violet had changed him. He could have killed them, all those people who came to clean up after Vivian's death. Or the people who had begun to pour in over the last year, getting the house ready for people to move in. But instead Tate remained hidden in the shadows of the upstairs hall, only coming out to scare people if they tried to see what was behind the locked door at the end of the hall. He was doing his best to show Violet that he was changed, and she could trust him. She just wouldn't see it. She stayed locked in the room she had once lived in; he had lived in it too, and wouldn't come out into the house that was their world. For fear of him.

Hearing her say his name Tate froze. It had been so long since he had heard her say it; it clenched his heart, reminding him all over again that this was his Violet, that he made her feel like no one in the world had ever made him feel before. Tate had thought of this moment for years, what he was going to say, how he was going to win her back, once her venom was gone. Here it was, he was his chance to say all those things he wanted to tell her, and he couldn't bring out the words. He couldn't make himself say "I Love You, Violet" like he had said so many times before. He couldn't say anything. He just stood there, looking down at her on that bed they had shared so many times before. Back when they were happy and in love. He could see himself making a declaration of his love and then crawling onto that bed with her, welcomed back into her life like he had been before. But he knew this time was different. He knew it wouldn't be that simple.

"You should probably go." Violet's voice was softer than it had been in years. All the anger, all the pain and rage she felt towards him seemed to disappear. Where it had gone, Tate didn't know or care. There was sorrow inside her now, like after she died. Tate knew what this meant. He knew her better than he knew himself, something she had pointed out to him when she told him all the horrible things he had done that caused his death. It wasn't good, that was for sure. He had seen Nora go crazy with grief, all the lengths she would go to get herself a child and kill the loneliness inside her. Tate didn't want Violet to fall victim to the level of sorrow. This was all his fault. Or was it? That little voice, the darkness inside him that took over when things were just a little too crazy, reared its ugly head and started whispering in Tate's ear. In the beginning it made sense. Her anger was justified, and no one but Tate could be blamed for making her feel as bad as she did. But five years? Five years of silence, five years of anger, five years withholding the one thing Tate wanted more than anything, her love? Just as Violet's walls were beginning to come down Tate felt his own start to go back up. She might have been the 'wronged' party, but he was hurt too. She had to say sorry for sending him away, for hiding away from him for all these years. For starving the love he needed so badly, the only thing that kept him sane.

"Yea, I guess I should." Tate said stiffly, taking a step backwards. He kept his eyes on Violet, begging her to say something, anything, that he could take as her asking him to stay. But she didn't say anything, just rolled onto her side away from Tate. If he hadn't been listening to the darkness in his head he would have known this was a good sign. She wasn't screaming at him, that was a good thing. But all he saw was a repeat of the last five years, the solitude and silence, the anger and betrayal and abandonment. He only saw that she didn't love him. Tate turned to leave her room, grabbing the doorknob and slamming the door behind him on his way out. If she wanted silence, then he would give it to her. She wouldn't know he was there anymore. He thought she wanted him to prove he had changed, and he did what he could to show her that. Now he was wondering what it was that she really wanted, and if he was part of it at all. The slamming of the door was the first thing Tate had done out of anger in years, and he had to admit it felt good. The part of him that ached for Violet and the light she brought him was dampened. Like when he was alive still, the anger and the violence numbed the pain. It was the dead's version of cutting, of the coke addiction, things that just didn't work like they used to.

"If you're going back to that, you stay the hell away from my daughter." Tate turned to see Vivian standing in the hall, her arms crossed and anger on her face. If death agreed with anyone, it was Vivian Harmon. Maybe it was the lack of pregnant hormones that makes women go crazy, or maybe it was the clarity that came with being dead and knowing she wasn't making it up, but since her death Vivian had become a presence in this house, and more than just another ghost. It would always be Nora's house, driven by her wants and desires, but if any of the spirits had the ability to tip the scales in their favor, it was Vivian. Tate had done his best not to cross paths with Vivian since that night, he knew she would either be a valuable ally or a formidable foe in the battle for Violet's forgiveness, but just like Nora and Vivian could control the force of the house, Tate was controlled by that force. In the end he was powerless to work against her in any way, not that he wanted to. He knew that in order to gain access to Violet, he had to receive forgiveness from the woman whose death he had caused. From the mother of the bride. Vivian had figured this out quickly, within days of her death, unlike Violet who still didn't have the whole story. "I might have forgiven you, Tate, for the awful things you did to me and my family. I might even understand why you did them, but that doesn't mean my daughter does. She's stubborn and willful and acting out is not going to gain her trust again."

"Nothing will get her back." Tate spat. Getting angry with Vivian was dangerous. She had made that clear from the beginning. But the darkness inside him was fighting against the goodness Violet had put in his heart and Tate was starting to lose control. "I've done everything I can to prove to her I've changed. That I am not the horrible things that I did. But fuck, how long am I supposed to wait? You said you would help me, Vivian, if I helped you. And I did! I did everything you asked that ni-" Vivian raised her hand and instantly Tate stopped talking. Vivian looked away from Tate and down the hall towards the sound of footsteps coming closer. Tate knew who they belonged to, Constance. His mother.

"You did a very good job, Tate, and I am helping you. We'll talk later. Right now I need to have a word with your mother." Vivian adjusted her blouse before heading towards Constance, presumably to ask her to get something for the house or one of its other occupants. Tate sighed in frustration, leaning against the wall opposite Violet's door. He knew he should probably leave, it had been a while since he had played with Beau or hung out with Travis, who despite the fact he had been nailing his mother was a pretty cool guy, but Tate wouldn't leave Violet alone. Even if she was on the other side of a closed door he would make sure she wasn't alone. Reaching into his pocket Tate fished out a deck of card, sliding down the wall before sitting in the hall and setting up a game of solitaire. At least it would pass the time.

"When are you going to stop being such a fucking emo kid?" Tate didn't bother to look up, flipping the first card over and beginning his game. Hayden wasn't worth his time. All she did was cause problems. Problems for the living, problems for the dead. Most of the spirits in the house had purpose, were there for a reason. Hayden was an accident, killed on the property by someone who didn't understand the house's power. While Tate liked Dr. Harmon, he was pissed he let Hayden die on the property. Not that he had a lot of say in this death; Tate wished he could have had a hand in it. Hayden was just fucking annoying. "She's never going to fuck you again, so why keep this up? How long have you been sulking out here? Five years? I bet those balls of yours are as blue as the pills she took to off herself when you told her you loved her."

"Fuck off, Hayden. Isn't there someone else you should be fucking? Oh right, everyone else is as fucking TIRED of you as I am." Tate still kept his eyes don on the game, trying to look interested in the cards he started hating years ago. He played cards with Violet, not by himself. Not with anyone else. It was the little things he missed most about them being apart, the fun he had with her, the ease he felt at being with her. Not like being around Hayden, who hadn't left after the insult. Tate wondered if she liked the abuse. Even the neglect didn't deter her. She actually sat down across the hall from Tate, her back against Violet's door, her smug little face smiling at him with secrets dancing in her eyes. Tate didn't understand how she always seemed to know things, how she always had answers to questions before they were even asked. But she did. That nosey little bitch. "What?"

"Why should I tell you? You'll just run and tell your little girlfriend. Opps, I'm sorry. Your EX girlfriend. Then she'll tell her mother and all the plans will be ruined." Hayden stood back up, heading down the hall. She was always like this when she actually knew something big, all high and mighty even though the information she had was never hers to keep. "But I will say this: Junior is coming home for a visit, daddy. It's his birthday. And the party won't be the only surprise in store." Hayden turned into an open room, laughing as she went. Tate just sat there, watching her as she went. He had no real feelings towards the thing he created with Violet's mother. He no joy in making it, and no joy in its return. Like Violet, he wished it had never happened. It had ruined his only chance at happiness. But there was something nagging him about what Hayden had just said. Why would Vivian have Ben bring the child to the house? Surely she knew it was a bad idea. Even though the years had passed, the house still wanted a child, this child. All the occupants could feel the longing as if it was their own, and Tate was no exception.

"Tate honey?" The annoying sound of his mother's voice broke his concentration. His face darkened as he gathered up the cards; clearly he wasn't going to get to play his game after all. Tucking the deck into his pocket Tate stepped from the shadows directly in front of Constance. The look she gave him, the one she saved just for him, passed over her face. Tate could read it, even if she thought he couldn't. Hatred and disgust for the things he had done, disbelief that her perfect child, her perfect angel could have done those things. Sorrow for losing her favorite child. None of it could be hidden in the smile she gave, the one that lied and said she was a loving mother. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Did she know once, when he was just a little boy, he had told a ghost he wished she was his mother over Constance? Nora would have been a better mother to him, and perhaps things would have ended up differently if she could have taken him up on the offer. Nora would have had the child she longed for, and Tate wouldn't have been the dark thing he grew to be. But that was decades in the past, events had unfolded the way they did, and poor little Tate grew into a monster. "How are you doing today, sweetie?" She only ever called him 'sweetie' when she knew something bad. Tate didn't even have the energy to ask.

"No better, no worse." Tate replied callously. He wondered how long until she accepted that he would never forgive her for her neglect, her shameful ways, for the pain she had caused him. Both in life and in death. "What do you want now, Constance?" He knew she was headed for Violet's room. While everyone knew Tate lingered on this floor, just outside of the room of the girl he loved, no one came looking for him. He hadn't been good company these last years. If he was feeling social, he sought others out. He just wanted to hurry this along, let Constance talk to Violet so she would leave and he could get back to his eternity. The dark thoughts were always harder for him to control when Constance was around. Yes, better she gets going and leaves him in peace.

"Your Violet rang. You know how that girl can g-" A slight growl, something animalistic and violent, raised up in the back of Tate's throat, causing Constance to fall silent. No one insulted Violet in front of Tate. Constance should know better, he shouldn't even have to give her a warning. "Well, I'm just coming to see what it is she needed. And I wanted to check on you. Do you want me to bring you anything?" Tate didn't have the patience for this anymore He hooked his thumbs into his jeans, standing a bit taller, towering over his mother. He saw the flicker of fear in her eyes, the knowledge of what he had done and what he could do to her. But Tate would never harm her, never kill her. Not from a sense of loyalty, but because he didn't want her here with him forever too. The house was filled with enough people who didn't like him.

"Bottle of whiskey and an eight ball would be nice." Tate answered, brushing past her. He had better things to do than try and play family. Violet wasn't alone now, he didn't need to be there. No, better go find out what Hayden was talking about. Tate hated to be the last to know these things.


	3. Chapter 3

**[b] AN: Hello, beautiful readers. Since this is chapter three, I thought I would throw in my first Author's note. I'm Violet (no, I am not claiming to be Violet Harmon. My name really is Violet.) and yes, I adore Violate. That is the reason I am putting up this note. For all the comments I have been getting about Tate and Violet getting back together [i**_**]soon[/**_**i]. Don't fret, dearest readers, they will. But they both have some… demons in their closets they have to ferret out before we get there. I hope you all are going to enjoy the ride. I sure am. Anyway, I got up and walked away from the note and now I forgot what I was saying. Something about bear with me as it takes the time for Violate to come back. But when it does, it will be amazing. At least I think so, and I hope you do too. Anyway, back to the story! And here is a good long chapter to cuddle with after the finale tonight. Once I started I just couldn't stop! Pleasant Screams! V.T. (hahaha, my initials are VT like Violet and Tate. How perfect? I never noticed this before.)[/b]**

The next time someone tried to get into her room they had the courtesy of knocking first. This made one thing very clear to Violet. It wasn't Tate on the other side of the door. In all the time she had known him he had never bothered with knocking before entering. Except that one time, when he threw pebbles at her window. Violet shook her head, trying to suppress the sweet memory of the dead boy she loved. She had been thinking about him since she had left, and the thoughts weren't the evil, rage induced stupor she was used to. Had she even wanted him to go? She had said the words, but did she even mean them? Violet wasn't sure anymore. She had sworn never to forgive him, that she would never be with him, but then why was she shaking? Why was her breath still coming in quick, shallow, pants as if she couldn't catch her useless breath? Her fingers were gripping the dark purple comforter so hard her knuckles were bone white; her hands ached from the strain. But that was better than remembering the sensation of running her fingers through his soft, golden locks.

"Who is it?" Violet was pretty sure it was Constance, or at least her mother, but she had thought that once already today and had been wrong. Better be safe than sorry this time. Wait, sorry? Was she sorry? Violet shook her head, trying to banish the confusing thoughts as Constance's voice came through the door. Violet called for her to come in, finally sitting up on the bed without releasing her death grip on the blankets that were her only protection left. Constance came into the room and Violet avoided meeting her gaze at first. Constance hadn't changed much in the last five years, then again according to Tate his mother hadn't changed much his whole life. Violet could tell it was simply graceful aging, though Tate had cruelly said it was plastic surgery. Briefly Violet thought about the fact she would never have to worry about such things. No wrinkles, no grey hair, no aging at all. She couldn't even think she could cut her hair. Still Constance was the one living contact the occupants the house actually had, and the thought of her aging and dying scared Violet. She didn't know how ghosts like Nora and the nurses handled it. Or would, if they had any sanity left. Then again, perhaps that was her answer. Insanity once all you know had withere and died. Oh, what a future she had to look forward to. Would it be once her father died? Or her not brother? Maybe, because the two people she loved most were in the house, unchanging as she was, it would take longer. Centuries of torture, a slow downward spiral before Violet finally snapped and forgot everything, even her name.

"Violet, the dogs need to be fed in thirty minutes, so what is it that you called me here for?" Constance didn't like spending time around Violet, and to be honest Violet didn't enjoy time with Constance. Since Violet and Tate… had they really broken up? Could two teenage ghosts trapped forever in hell on earth do something so mundane? There had to be a bigger, better word for their parting. Something filled with longing, tragedy, betrayal, anger, and love. Whatever label was eventually tacked onto their separation, the split itself had cause a rift between Violet and Constance that neither could (or wanted to) bridge. She thought the younger girl had simply abandoned Tate, as if on whim. Violet didn't have the heart to tell Constance everything that happened, and didn't expect her to understand why it hurt Violet so much. Constance wasn't right in the head, the same as Tate. Violet didn't know how much Constance knew about Tate and what he did when she wasn't watching, but Violet didn't even want to find out. That would be opening the wound again, something Violet wanted to avoid at all costs. Still, she had to be nice to Constance, they had to get along. They were connected.

"Do you have a smoke? I'm out." Violet asked softly, looking at Constance expectantly. Constance rolled her eyes, reaching into the purse she had on her elbow and fished out an unopened pack of cigarettes, tossing them to Violet. Clearly Constance already knew what Violet wanted. It wasn't a big surprise, she hardly ever called Constance over for anything besides cigarettes. Greedily Violet opened the pack and lit one, taking a deep drag from the cancer stick that would never kill her. She looked up at Constance again, handing over her lighter to Constance, who had already pulled herself a ciggy from her own pack. Constance lite it, tossing the lighter onto Violet's bed, looking deep into Violet. It was something that unnerved Violet about Constance. The woman always seemed to be able to see into her soul. It was a surprise Constance didn't know Violet was dead before she had been told.

"I thought that might what you were after. I hope that pack will last the night. I am not going out again tonight." Constance clipped, even though if Violet asked her to go, she knew the older woman would. The pack should last her long enough, and Violet nodded. She wanted Constance to leave now, but she didn't move, still looking at Violet, still reading her thoughts as if she were a medium, just like Billie Dean could. Violet tried not to squirm under Constance's gaze, but she guessed she wasn't convincing enough, because Constance blew smoke out of her mouth before taking a step closer to Violet.  
>"You talked to Tate today, didn't you." Violet opened her mouth to defend herself, she didn't know what she would say, but Constants waved her hand at Violet, dismissing the thought before she ever got to it. "Don't bother, dear, I can read it all over your face. That same, sad puppy look my son gets every time someone talks about you. And clearly you haven't made up yet. Did you really feel the need to rub salt into the poor boy's wounds? You know Tate is special, why must you treat him so badly?" Violet felt herself puff up, ready to attack Constance with her words. How dare she spill that bullshit at Violet? Violet treats Tate badly? That woman must be seriously fucked in the head if she thought Tate was the victim in this little world. He was darkness, he was evil, and here she was <em>defending<em> him. But then she thought about it again. She wasn't nice to him, that was sure. All he ever did was apologize to her, tell Violet how sorry he was for what he did. That he was different then, that she had made him better. Could she really argue with that, after all she had seen in these last years?

"I don't know" The words came out of Violet's mouth before she even registered them. Constance wasn't as surprised as Violet was, however. She nodded, a knowing smile curling around her cigarette. Well, as long as she was confession, she might as well get it all out. Who knew how long it would be before Violet felt like talking again without hiding behind all the bullshit? Taking another drag off her cigarette, watching Constance closely, Violet doubted herself for another moment before the tension was just too much and the dam broke, spilling her heart out to the one person who might actually have an answer for her. "What he did, it was terrible. He killed people, lots of people, because he fucking felt like it. But I just let that go. He had changed, everyone could see it. He wasn't about to kill everyone left in the house. And it wasn't just because they were my family. It was because he had changed. I didn't do that. Not all by myself. I didn't hold a gun to his head… Well, you know. I couldn't force him to change, I didn't even know there was something to change in him for the longest fucking time. I should be able to forgive him, but I don't know if I can! Even the bullshit with my mom happened before he got… better. Before he changed. For me or because of me, or whatever. He did CHANGE. So I should be able to let it go. I should just fucking forgive him. And I want to. But he has to pay for what he did, he never has. He never had to pay for all the lives he took, all the pain he caused. Even dying he got a get out of jail free card. He gets to stay beautiful and young forever in this house. The only thing he had, the only thing he wanted, was me. I had to leave. He needed to know what it feels like to hurt, what it feels like to feel pain. Like the pain he inflicted to everyone else. It was the only thing that might get to him, might make him understand!" Violet knew it sounded fucked up, even as she said it. But there it was. The reason behind why she didn't accept Tate back into her life. Maybe if Constance could understand why she had done it, why even after the betrayal and anger had faded she didn't just forgive him. Because it was her obligation to condem him, this was her hell. No matter what her heart wanted, no matter how much she loved him and wanted him, her cross to bear was her loneliness.

"Who says it's up to you?" Constance didn't sound understanding, or accepting. Violet watched Constance's face controt into a mask of anger and rage. It made her look a lot like Tate, and once again Violet wondered if it wasn't the house but genes that made Tate evil. "You stupid little girl. You selfish child. Has he not suffered enough? Living in this house was punishment enough. So he was happy once you and your little family got here, he was a good boy once, he deserved some happiness eventually! Being trapped here, away from his family, for all these years. You think he never knew pain? It was pain that drove him to do those terrible things. No matter what you might think, little missy, my son has suffered more than you will ever understand." Constance threw her lit cigarette at Violet, perhaps to actually hurt her or maybe just to insult Violet more. Violet didn't know which, but either way she scrambled backwards across her bed away from the burning cherry. Constance took a step closer to Violet, her hand raising as if she were about to attack. Before she finished her second step, however, the door to Violet's room opened with so much force the top hinge broke off the wall and the whole door came crashing down onto the wooden floor. Both females froze, looking to see who was about to enter the fray.

"Get out." Violet shivered at the intensity of the statement, even if it was spoken in little more than a whisper. Hands balled up in fists at his side added to the threat. Constance stepped back from Violet, keeping her eyes on the third party, looming in the doorway. But what was more suprising was the fact that Constance was given the chance to leave. Tate had done much worse for much less before. Both Constance seemed to register that at the same time, his restraing, and Constance glowered at Violet. It was a look of angry vindication, an I told you so without having to voice it. Violet understood, Constance was telling her Tate really was different, he really was changed, and he really didn't deserve her punishment. Maybe Constance was right, but that was something Violet had to come to on her own. Now was not the time, for anyone present, for Violet to start admitting she might have been wrong. Constance swept from the room, her heals clicking in loud echoes across Violet's door, leaving Tate and Violet alone together again. Twice in the same day, it was more contact the past few hours than they had had in the past few years. They were locked still, refusing to meet each other gaze. Violet, staring down at her lap, began knowing on her bottom lip, wondering how Tate had known the moment when Constance was about to do… whatever it was she was about to do. It wasn't like Constance could kill Violet, but she could hurt. Constance could have attacked Violet and then have left her, alone bleeding and unable to move, until she healed back up. Violet knew she wouldn't have attacked Constance back, she wouldn't have even raised her arms to defend herself. No, Violet would have taken the beating if Tate hadn't intervened because, somewhere deep down, Violet thought she deserved it.

"Tate." Violet's voice cracked as she said his name. Her confession left her open and aching for him. For those perfect lips to pull back into a lopsided grin before his strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her into a warm embrace filled with love. But there was none of the boy who loved birds, Byron, and her reflected in his almost black eyes. The face was hollow, dark, and Violet stifled a cry, something lost between fear and warning, as their gazes finally met and Tate took a step into the room. He held Violet's eyes, but he didn't say anything to her. Instead he bent over, lifting her door without looking away, his expression dark and unreadable. Tate took a step backwards, as if to put the door back in place, but with himself on the other side. Violet stood, taking a step towards Tate and the door. He couldn't just leave again. He had to stay, explain himself. Violet wanted to claim this was from a place of anger, outrage, and even betrayal. All the emotions she already associated with him. But she knew better. The moment he had busted down the door, and every moment since, the buzzing in Violet's head had been replaced with a single voice, ringing strong and true in her mind. A voice telling her if you love someone you should never hurt them. A voice promising to never let anyone or anything hurt her. A voice reminding her she had died safe and loved. Tate's voice. "Tate… I…" Violet didn't understand how this guy could make her feel so weak. She had always prided herself in her strength, but there was nothing strong about Violet when it came to Tate. Maybe because there was nothing strong about love. But all Violet could think about was how much she wanted to tell him she had missed him in the last few years. Oh, how Violet ached to explain that even as she screamed at him to go away what she really wanted to scream was how much she loved him. Even if she didn't approve, how could someone approve of what he did, or even understand why he had done those things, her heart would always belong to him. Just for a moment Violet wanted to remember what it was like to be in love with Tate, to be happy about their eternity together. But her mind couldn't come up with the words, and her mouth wouldn't let her say the things she wanted. She was left standing there, her mouth opening and closing, as tears began to fill her eyes.

"Don't." Tate commanded, his voice hollow and beautiful and haunting all at the same time. Violet could hear the strain, how much effort it took him to tell her no. There was no question on whether he still wanted her. No matter how he tried to hide the frustration and anguish, Violet knew better. She knew him better than he knew himself. But something, everything, was keeping them apart. Tate kept her gaze until he placed the door between them, leaving Violet along and crying. Something he had promised her he never would do. How was it that someone who had so much to answer for, someone who was so completely wrong, make her feel like the one who had made the mistake? Like she should be running after Tate, tear down that door and fall to her knees and beg his forgiveness. Violet didn't, though. She fell back onto her bed, sitting there and smoking cigarette after cigarette, her mind a war against herself. On one had all she wanted was Tate. Tate to love her again, to keep her safe and fight away the lonely. But whenever she thought about those perfect dimples and flawless chest too long the image of him would glaze over with darkness, a slick black that clings to her perfect body. Soon all Violet can see is the Rubber Man in her mind. The Rubber Man killing Patrick and Chad. The Rubber Man attacking her father. The Rubber Man raping her mother. If only Violet could separate the blonde boy she loved from the darkness that swallowed him in a very literal way. Her mind was a torrent of conflicting emotions, real and fictional memories, and Violet wondered if this was it. Was this how she was to go mad? It would be fitting. Tate had ruined Ben's life, ended Vivian's, and now he would stal Violet's sanity. The Harmon Family Trifecta.

Violet knew she had to get her mind of Tate, which was a daunting task. Normally he was there, on the corners of her mind, behind the white noise and static that constantly kept Violet company. Normally she would find her computer, type away poetry or stories that were happier or sadder than the real hell she was stuck in. But her mother had taken her laptop downstairs the previous night for god knows what, and Violet hadn't retrieved it just yet. She had a similar problem with the books in her room, she had read all of them time and time again and they wouldn't be enough to make Violet forget the feeling of Tate's lips at the base of her neck. The best bet she had was to listen to music, even though she doubted that would help for very long. Maybe she could blast it loud enough to drowned out everything in her head. She opened the drawer, where she normally kept her ipod when it wasn't plugged into the dock. It was there, like always, but it wasn't what caught her eye. Instead Violet noticed, and got out, a little matches box, tossed carelessly with the other junk. But this wasn't junk, and it hadn't been tossed carelessly, it was only made to look like that. Violet slid open the box with care, and pulled out one of the shiny razor blades she had stashed there, back when Tate made her promise never to cut herself again.

Of course, Violet had thought about this before. Once she had found a gun in the basement and had contemplated shooting herself in the head. She had always wondered, in a sick morbid sort of way, what it would feel like. And shooting herself in the head would kill a couple housrs while her head knitted itself back together. Another bonus of being a ghost, suicide was suddenly a temporary solution to a perminit problem, not the other way around. But that had been back in the darkest days, right after Thaddeus 2 was born, after Violet had told Tate to go away but before he came back to beg forgiveness. It took Violet some time to let go of the ideas, but in the end she never actually went through with her second suicide. But death version 2.0 wasn't really was Violet was thinking about as she turned the blade over carefully in her hand. Violet had another, older vise she was considering. After all, the cut would heal in a few hours. And even after everything she was worried Tate would find out. A few hours away from Tate shouldn't be hard to manage. After all, she had been away from him for years. No, Tate would never have to know about this moment of weakness. Violet rolled up her left sleeve, picking a spot in the middle of her arm, directly overtop an existing scar, all puckered and an angry pink color. Not many of her scars were the ghostly silver color Tate's were. Violet had always liked reopening them, keeping them from getting the chance to heal properly. This time was no exception as she pressed down with the sharp edge, feeling it neatly slice through flesh and capillaries, leaving a bright crimson line where the faded pink one had been. Unlike when she was alive, now Violet simply let the blood well up until it spilled over the edge of her arm, leaving tiny red dots on her skirt and floor. The cut had worked, Violet was no longer a mess of emotions. Icey clarity was her once again, Violet was calmed as her ghostly blood flowed. But after a moment she remembered Tate rushing into the bathroom, licking her blood in a disgusting yet oddly erotic fashion, before lovingly demanding she never do it again. That time she agreed. This time she simply made another cut, one farther up her arm. "Might as well make the most of it." Violet made another, and another. A whole army of long red lines, opening all the scars she could find before making more. More. She would heal, why not? It wasn't until her arm was running completely scarlet, a pool of blood on the floor and stain on her skirt bigger than her hand, that she felt the ice in her mind become softer. The white noise, sharp and pristine only moments ago, faded and softened like cotton. Perhaps she had messed up, again. Maybe she would see what death was like a second time. Violet was ok with that. After all, death didn't mean much when you lived in the Murder House. Looking down she noticed the blood pooling on her skirt and the floor. No big deal, Moira could clean blood out of just about anything. Violet started to sink to the floor, ready to let the death take her for a while. She didn't know what would happen, but it had to be better than the constant reminder of Tate. Anything had to be better than that. Violet was ready to die again for him, because that was what she was doing. Dying again for the boy she loved, only to come back again later and be trapped in hell with him. It took her a moment, the cotton in her mind made her movements sluggish, but she remembered her door was off it's hinges. She didn't want anyone to walk in on her when she was a bloody mess. Maybe she should go to her bathroom and lock the door. She had died there before, and no one had come in on her. Maybe she could make it a thing, dying in her bathroom when she couldn't block out the thoughts of Tate anymore. Stumbling a bit as she stood, Violet headed to the door, trying to move the heavy thing as she realized she might have overestimated her time left before the death took over. Violet tugged on the door and it came crashing down again, almost dragging Violet down with it. The noise was loud and Violet winced from the bang that occurred. Her eyelids were heavy, and she struggled to open her eyes again. The blood loss was too much, she was going to die right there. She hoped Moria found her, or Nora. Maybe they would pull her into her room and give her some dignity. Not that she had much to begin with.  
>"Violet?" Violet forced her eyes open into slits, only able to hold it a second before she was lost to the comforting darkness that was her temporary death. But she could have sworn the last thing she saw was Tate, sitting outside her door, reading another damn book on birds.<p>

**[b]AN: Oh, I forgot something I want to tell you guys about my story(s). Well about me more than my stories, but it has to do with them as well. I am dyslexic, so if I mess something up, spell something really weird, or I don't make sense, please let me know. I read my stories like five times before I post them, but I always end up missing something. I won't take offence, promise! Just a heads up. Again, pleasant screams! V.T[/b]**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello again, lovelies. OMG I wanted to say THANK YOU for all the amazing responses I have had to this. I don't know who to tell you how happy it makes me feel, knowing there are people out there who like my story. I'm sorry it's been so long since I updated, the holidays have made things a bit cray cray around here. But I do have this chapter, and the next, hand written. So never fear, the story WILL GO ON! (And boy does this chapter go on. I couldn't find a good place to cut it before the end. It was all too important to me. But hey, you all like long chapters, right?) Anyway, I thought you all deserved a nice (late) Christmas treat, so here you go. Some smut and… *drum roll* the return of Violate! Pleasant Screams, my Murder House guests! VT**

The African swallow, Tate's bird of the week. Well, it was now that he had found a book on them in what had been Ben's study. It had been a library when his family had lived there, mostly because it had already been filled with books from the previous owners. That was what this house was, a collection of the belongings of the previous occupants. And of course the previous occupants themselves. No one made it through this house unscathed. But Tate had never seen this book among the hundreds that lined the many many shelves of this house. It was actually a welcome find; something he hoped would take his mind off Violet. But now it was doing nothing. The writing might as well have been in French. Tate couldn't focus. His mother had tried to attack Violet. And what's worse, Tate had let her go. It hadn't been easy. The basement had felt the brunt of his frustration, a good quarter of it lay in shambles, but he had allowed Constance to walk free. The thought made Tate's blood boil, made the dark voices in his head chatter on with what he could do to her when she returned, but Tate knew he never would. Not because she was his mother, but because Tate didn't know if he could even attack her. He didn't know if he could go through with the violence. He really was tired of hurting people. It used to be fun for him; the violence was actually fun. Well, fun wasn't really the right word. It was a release, it kept the voices quiet. It was almost necessary. But that didn't mean it didn't come easy. For Tate killing someone back then came as easy as putting on a Nirvana album. Fun and exciting every time.

But now something stopped him. And this little bullshit exchange with Constance wasn't the first one he had walked away from. No, there had been others throughout the years, ones that Violet wasn't even there to see, wasn't there to stop him. Of course, the first was when the people from the bank had come into the house; wanting to look over what Ben had left behind, see what could be resold and what had to be trashed and just how much blood there was lying around the house. They were the ones who found Violet's body. That was the first time Tate let someone walk away, when the morgue guys called her names as they took his decaying angel from her hiding place. They called her things like 'emo freak' and 'pathetic goth', insults Tate only half understood. He wanted to rip them limb from limb, slit their throats and break their spines. But he didn't, he stood in the shadowy corner of Violet's room, invisible to even her as they both watched her body leave the house in the way her spirit never would. Every time someone tried to get into her room, Tate had to make sure he only scared them, only got them to leave without actually hurting them too badly. A few bruises, maybe a scratch or two, but they would live. He knew he could still do it, if he needed to, but he knew that he wouldn't. He hadn't hurt anyone in so long, not since right after Vivien died. And that was only at her behest. No, Tate was a changed man. He might never be truly good, but he wasn't the darkness Violet accused him of being. Not anymore.

But he couldn't be there with Violet after Constance was there. Tate couldn't be around anyone, not when the pull was that strong. He didn't want to do anything to scare Violet, to make her think he was still the monster she was afraid of. But the basement couldn't hold him forever, and Tate had made a promise to never leave her on her own. Once he was calmer, once he wasn't about to rip off his mother's head in a very literal sense, he headed back to the hall outside Violet's room, with the book in hand. But the voices, the darkness, it wasn't quite done with him. They kept picking at his mind, sending him images of bloody times, like the ones he used to tell Ben about when he was pretending he was normal and alive. The images that made him not sure if he was awake or asleep, if he could actually sleep anymore. He hadn't slept since he was with Violet, since they were happy and they slept together, holding each other after making love.

There was nothing like when they were intimate. The tiny noises she made when he kissed down her body. She liked it when he nipped at the crook of her neck, and the underside of her perfect breast. Not hard, not enough to break skin, just enough to leave red marks, bruises sometimes. Tate liked when he left bruises on her, it was like he was marking her as his own. Only he had touched her there, only he knew how to draw those noises out of her. It was those times that he knew she was his, and only his. No matter how much she hated him now, Tate would remember how she sounded when he kissed down her body. The little whimpers she made in-between whispering his name as his kisses dipped down to the band of her tights, as if urging him on, begging for him to just get to it already. But he knew how much she loved the buildup, and Tate loved being tender with her. Even the times when he wasn't so gentle, Tate still showed Violet how much he loved her, each lust filled kiss poured true love down on her. Oh, and when he finally got to taste that pussy, all sweet and bright pink and dripping with her desire for him. She tasted like light and innocence and all things good and pure.

Tate's eyes closed, his palm mashing into the crotch of his jeans, remembering how sweet she tasted. This wasn't the first time he had lost control like this, when his fantasies became just too much for him and he had to take matters into his own hands. After all, he was condemned to be a teenage boy for all of eternity, and teenage boys were nothing more than walking testosterone. Hayden was right, Tate did miss sex. But only with Violet, no matter how much he wanted to fuck, he only wanted to be with Violet. Tate could almost feel his imaginary Violet run her fingers through his hair, gentle at first but as her desire began to build, goaded on by his tongue flicking against her clit, she'd grip harder. Once she started yanking it, her breath hitching, he'd slide his middle finger in knuckle deep. Instantly drenched, she was always so wet for him, he'd pump it in and out, coaxing her towards the edge. Her hips start bucking; she's unable to contain her moans. Tate loves it when she moans, the sounds are so addicting. He knows she is close, and he can't wait to taste her lust. Tate slides a second finger inside her, fucking her into a frenzy with his hand and mouth. This is probably his favorite part, his innocent flower acting anything but pure. Tate feels Violet spasm around his hand, her juices flowing freely as she screams his name. Tate feels his dick twitch, stiff and ready to plunge into her. But Tate takes a moment to shower her with kisses, letting her body ride out her climax.

Only once she is ready again does he slide his big cock inside her. Tate's first instinct is to find a slow, deep rhythm but he's already too close. He pulls her up into his lap, keeping a tight grip on her hips. Tate lifts Violet only to slam her back down onto him. He's kissing along her jaw, down her throat, taking her stiff nipples into his mouth, her hot breath in his ear. She's telling him she loves him and, oh god, how good he feels inside her. He bites down on her neck, enough to leave a little love mark there for a few hours. It sends her over the edge again, her body gripping down on his dick, pulling his own orgasm out of him. He moans against her hot skin, his eyes closing as he pulls her tight against him. This is what love is supposed to feel like. Suddenly a loud bang in the room makes his eyes snap open.

Tate looked around the hall, his hand down his pants and his hot seed leaving a stand on his jeans. Fuck, he really did need to get laid. But that bang was real, more real than the Violet he had just been with, and he had to see what was causing such a noise so close to his beloved. First thing he noticed was Violet's door was no longer in place, but then he saw the form laying on top of it, that honey hair covering her face as she lay there, unable to get up. And then the blood, all that blood, flowing across her door, staining the wood. Tate felt his heart clench, he couldn't breath, he couldn't even move at first. But this feeling wasn't new, he had felt this all-consuming terror once before. _The night she died. _Tate jumped to his feet, looking down at himself and was grateful that being a ghost meant clean clothes could be as easy as a thought, and then rushed to her side.

"Violet?" Tate felt tears springing to his eyes; he knew this was his fault. It was always his fault, the darkness's fault. But she'd promised. She had promised she wouldn't cut herself anymore. Violet's eyes tried to focus on Tate, but they only rolled back into her head as her body fell limp in his hands. Tate carefully scooped her up into his arms, there was no need to drag her down the hall in a hurry this time, and began to take her from her room. Time didn't really matter anymore, there was no saving her this time, only making her feel more comfortable when she came back to him. Tate had been fit when he died; he had only been off the track team little more than a month before his little _episode _at Westfield High. He could easily pick up and carry his waif of an ex down the hall.

"What did you do this time, Norman Bates JR? She wouldn't sleep with you and so you decided to kill her. Reminder, Elvira is already dead." Tate had made it only a few steps down the hall before someone appeared in his way. Tate narrowed his eyes. If he hadn't had time for Hayden before, he definitely didn't have time for this queen now. Tate tried to push past Chad, but the bigger man simply stepped in his way, blocking Tate's escape route. For everyone being afraid of the darkness inside him, the other occupants of the house sure did like trying to bring it out of him. Tate looked down at Violet, his light, as she moaned in pain. Couldn't this fucking fag see her arm? How could Tate had done something like that to her? Tate was helping her, not hurting her. He had hurt her more than he had ever meant to already. He never wanted to do that again.

"I didn't do this, she did. Now get the fuck out of my way." Tate growled, pulling Violet's body closer to himself. He could feel her blood soaking thought his shirt, the hot wet liquid blooming red across his chest in a very nostalgic way. Chad laughed in his flamboyant fashion, reaching out to lift a lock of Violet's hair off her face, holding it between two fingers as if he didn't really want to touch her. Like she was somehow beneath him. Tate always hated Chad's high and mighty attitude, and every time he started acting like this Tate took pleasure in remember just how he had died. He wasn't so proud when he was getting the shit beat out of him. Even less so when he choked on his own bile in the basement, trying so desperately to cling to life Tate had already decided to take from him. Now was not the time to reminisce, and before Chad got the chance to come up with another sharped tongue remark, Tate decided he had had enough.

"Go away, Chad." Before he finished his blink, Chad was gone and the hall was clear.

No one else came between Tate and Violet's old bathroom, thankfully, and with a sense of déjà vu Tate placed Violet carefully in the tub, making sure to tuck her arms inside before turning on the hottest water he could. He was thankful the water had been turned back on by the people coming in the fix up the place. There had been almost a year between showers for some of them, and while the ghosts didn't really need them, sometimes Tate had wished they would take one. Death stunk, and even the ghosts of the bodies left behind smelled like rotting flesh if left alone for too long.

Though tears were still falling down his face, Tate made no desperate plea for Violet to come back to him. She would in time, this was different, if no less painful for him. Even temporary death was not something he wanted to see Violet go through. After making sure he locked the door, Tate turned to face Violet again. It felt like a lifetime ago he had dragged her down the hall, confused and afraid, screaming and begging her not to die on him. He never wanted her trapped in this place. That time he had climbed into the tub, holding her close to him. But now he didn't. He had learned his kisses wouldn't save her; he couldn't coax her back into her body. This time he sat on the floor, his back pressed into the door, and watched her. The hot water began to wash the blood off Violet and her clothes, the deep red turning pink before being lost to the world. Lost like they all were. Tate began twisting his thumb ring around his thumb, watching Violet's unconscious ghost body. She'd never done this before, never died after death, and Tate had no idea how long she would be out. It always depended: who it was, why they were dead again, how they 'killed' themselves. Some spirits could stay awake through the most horrible dismemberments, while others faded from minor assaults. Tate could remember Moira blasting her brains out to kill a few hours, while Tate himself had been beaten within an inch of his afterlife only to keep coming back for more.

"Violet, why now?" Tae bit down on his bottom lip, looking at Violet as the hot water continued to beat down on her. "How long have you been cutting yourself again?" Steam was filling up the room, but Tate didn't bother with the exhaust fan. The oppressive, damp heat actually felt good to Tate. He was just glad he could feel anything right then. "You know you can't die again, so why try and kill yourself? Was it because of me? Because you saw me again? Is talking to me that miserable? Do you hate me that much? It didn't sound like it. Violet, I don't understand. You told me to leave you alone, so I did what I could. But did you really think I would leave you unprotected? I swore I wouldn't let anyone hurt you. I told you I would always be here. And I will. You are all I've ever wanted; even when I didn't know you existed. Even when I didn't know what to ask for." Tate stood up, suddenly feeling restless. He went over to Violet, checking to make sure the water was still warm. He thought she might like being warm and clean when she came back. Better than cold and still covered in her ghostly blood. Still, if she didn't wake soon, he would have to take her back to her room. It was too much for him to hope none of the occupants would notice the shower on.

"I'll always be here; I'll wait forever for you. But you can't… you shouldn't." Tate sighed, pacing again as his fists balled up at his sides. He wanted to hurt something, break something, and find a way to get all these emotions out. "I don't know how to fix this, Violet. You're all alone, that isn't right. You have your mom, sure, but she doesn't give you the companion you need. The love you deserve. I want to save you. I want to take away your pain, to see you smile again. But I don't know how. I've done everything I can think of to show you I can be what you need again. That I have changed and you can trust me again. But it isn't enough. Will it ever be enough? I don't expect you to forget what I've done. I don't even want you to. And I know you can't forgive me. But I wish you could, I don't fucking know. Move past it. Give us a fresh start. I'm not going anywhere, neither are you. We can't keep this up. It's killing you." Tate finally stopped pacing and knelt next to the bathtub. Gently he brushed a lock of Violet's hair out of her face before picking up her hand, lacing their fingers together. Their hands fit so well together, in Tate's mind it was just another sign they were meant to be together.

"It's killing your light. Vi, if you can't move on from this, it will eat you alive. You'll become dark and twisted. You'll become like me."

Tate knelt next to Violet until the water ran cold, getting wet from the spray without complaint, as he waited for her to come back. He was expecting her to yell at him, send him away, and he would be ok with that this time. Just as long as he knew she was safe. Her arm was whole again, the brilliant red cuts faded back to the pink pattern she had the day she died. No matter how many times she cut now she's always have the same scars. 26 beautiful scars, each one a part of the girl Tate loved. Why wasn't she coming back? Surely she should be back on this side by now. Hours had passed, hadn't they? Days maybe. Tate turned off the water, he didn't want her to wake up cold, then rummaged around in the bathroom cupboards until he found an old fluffy towel, once white but now slightly yellowed with age and neglect. But instead of wrapping Violet up in it right away he picked her up again, her clothes wet and her hair dripping, back to her room. He carefully sat her on the floor before putting her door back in place and locking it shut. He can hear his own voice, mocking him, reminding him of one of the first things he had ever said to her.

"_If you're trying to kill yourself, you might also try locking the door." _

Carefully, lovingly, Tate turned back to Violet. As gently as he could he striped her wet clothing off, doing his best to ignore the darkness demanding he perform lustful acts upon her unknowing body, and tossed the wet and bloody things aside. With a light touch he rubbed her down the with towel he had thrown over his shoulder, drying her pale skin, before finding some of her old clothes and redressed her as best he can. Tate didn't know much about fashion, when he was living his idea of a clothing god was Kurt Cobain, but he thought he had seen her in something like this before. It was at least her normal tights/floral print dress/ long sleeved under shirt/cardigan combo. But in the end he doesn't really care about what he dressed her in. She still hasn't awoken, and Tate can feel the worry he'd been suppressing starting to press in on his mind. Why hadn't her spirit returned to him yet? Could she… could she really be dead. Like, dead dead, not this bullshit version they all lived each day. Had Violet found a way out of Murder House? No, if she had, she would have told him. Tate refused to believe she would leave him like that. No matter how much she hated him, she loved him too. Violet wouldn't just leave him like that.

Tate placed the dressed Violet on her bed, her head on the pillow as if she was sleeping. She actually did look like she had just dozed off, except of course for the fucked up way she wasn't breathing. Tate began pacing her room, chewing on his fingernail as he tried to keep some semblance of calm. But something was wrong.

"Fuck, Vi! Wake up!" Tate muttered, keeping his eye on her as he paced. "Don't do this. You can't. Your mom needs you here. Ben and Thaddeus need you, even if you hate the little fucker. You need to be around to keep him good. Like you did with me." Tate sighed, his voice rising as the panic and the darkness met and swirled around in his mind. "Fuck, I need you! I still want to do bad things, and I need to you to keep me from doing them! You know I changed for you! All of this was for you! Without you I don't know how to keep the darkness out. I can't fight it without my light. I love you. Please, please don't go! Hate me forever, just don't leave me!" Tears were once again falling down Tate's face and sobs chocked out his words. He collapsed on the floor next to her bed, unable to keep himself up anymore. He couldn't save her. Once again it looked like he would be there too late to save the one thing he loved. Damn this house, damn his evil ways, damn it all. This was his Violet, their unconventional love was the stuff of legends. She couldn't leave him. Not like this, not before they had made up. "Violet!"

A hand pressed down on the top of Tate's head, fingers twisted with his golden locks. At first he didn't know if it was real, but he looked up anyway, trying to wipe the tears from his eyes. Violet's face looked over the side of the bed, her hand now resting on his cheek, and she was smiling. Fuck, she was actually smiling at him again.

"Don't worry, Tate. I'll always be here to keep you good. I'll always be your light."


	5. Chapter 5

**I promise I won't do Author Notes at the beginning of EVERY chapter (unless you want me to. Tell me in the reviews, because I kind of like talking to you all, but at the same time I don't want to get annoying. I know you're here for Violet and Tate, not me lol) but I did want to tell you all this much. I don't do playlists for most of my chapters, but this one is special. Do me a favor and listen to a song called "2 in the Chest, 1 in the Head" by a band called New Years Day (you can UTube it). That band are friends of mine and one of the last paragraphs kind of quotes it. (as in it totally does.) It's kind of my view on Violet's emotions in the chapter. Plus, it's an AMAZING SONG. Anyway, now onto the Fic. **

**Oh, wait. One more thing. This is the last plotless chapter I have. After this the Violate heavy themes will die and all those burning questions you have (Who is buying the house? Why is Ben bringing demon baby back? What did Tate do to help Vivien that night?) will begin to be answered. NOW we go onto the fic and actual Violate since the last chapter it was only at the very end. Pleasant Screams! VT**

It was warm. Violet couldn't remember the last time she was this warm and light feeling. Well, yes she could. She always felt like this when she was in Tate's arms. But she couldn't be in Tate's arms now, she had told him to go away. He had left her alone, like she had asked. He had… Memories began flooding into Violet's mind. It might have been a side effect of the second bullshit death, but for a moment she had forgotten everything that had happened. For a moment all she knew was how much she hated Tate for what he did to her family. And then she remembered more. Her fight with Constance, Tate barging in to save her. Tate always trying to save her. She could remember finding the razors, and then the soothing blood. There was so much of it. Violet didn't even know if ghosts could bleed, guess that answered her question. She was still fuzzy feeling when she heard a voice coming from very close.

""Fuck, I need you! I still want to do bad things, and I need to you to keep me from doing them!" What was going on? What was Tate doing here? "Without you I don't know how to keep the darkness out. I can't fight it without my light. I love you. Please, please don't go! Hate me forever, just don't leave me!" Violet finally opened her eyes and saw her ceiling. She realized she was lying on her bed, and Tate's voice was coming from the floor next to her, angry and desperate enough to be shouting at her. Telling her he loved her. Violet smiled. She knew as much. She had heard his whispers through the years, replayed memories in her head; Violet would never forget how much Tate loved her. Violet was weak, which sucked, but she managed to lift her hand and place it on top of Tate's head. Her fingers worked their way into his curls before she could even think about it. Like it was second nature. Fuck, she missed this. His head turned as Violet sat up to look at him, smiling because she couldn't control it. It felt good to smile for him, for her Tate. No matter what he had done, no matter how much she hated him and thought he deserved to pay for what he did, he would always be the one she loved.

"Don't worry, Tate. I'll always be here to keep you good. I'll always be your light."

His lopsided grin suddenly brightened his face. He sat up, rushing forward to capture her lips with his own. For a split second Violet thought of pushing him away. Him being there, this close, was as much of an attack as it was a relief. But it was as if she had forgotten how well their mouths fit together, how much she loved kissing her devil, because as her mind told her to push Tate away her heart took control. Arms that would have given her distance brought him closer. He followed her backwards, keeping their lips locked, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth. Violet sighed into the kiss, her unbeating heart straining against her chest. Tate pressed himself down on top of Violet, never taking his mouth away from hers. They didn't ever need to break for breath. And they had five years to make up for. Not just kissing. Violet's mid ran ahead, to them naked and entwined, and a whimper of desire came out of her mouth. Instantly he pulls back, his face pulling into alarm. Violet laughed, and oh it felt soooooo good.

"What are you doing? I'm not done with you yet!" Violet's voice was light, playful, it was as if she had forgiven him and they were happy again. Or they had never fought in the first place, like Tate had never done evil things and was another victim of the house. Violet knew that wasn't true, and she didn't know if she had forgiven him. But none of that mattered in those heated moments. This was five years of ache, five years of saying no, five years of tears and bullshit that Violet was about to take off. Just like she wanted to take off Tate's wet clothes. Violet pulled her arms from around her neck, trying to push the unbuttoned shirt off Tate's shoulders. And why was she wearing this many layers of clothing herself? Why wasn't Tate pulling her clothes away as desperately as she was trying to do to him? She could fell how much he wanted her, pressing into her thigh. But Tate just looked down at her, his eyes hooded and confused. Violet didn't understand this bullshit. "Tate?" Violet pulled her hands away from his clothes, reaching up instead to touch the troubled look on his face. Violet could see the conflict flickering in his dark eyes. What was making him wait? Hadn't he been begging for this for years, for them to have a second chance, for them to get to be together again?

"Why did you do it?" Why was it always at the most bullshit times did people ask these kinds of questions? Violet didn't want to talk about this right now; it would be admitting there was a problem. Now, for the most part, Violet hated running away from problems, acting like they weren't there until they were ready to be dealt with. Violet faced everything head on, taking manors into her own hands time and time again. But now, the only thing she wanted to be taking into her hands was Tate. This was playing out so different from what she had thought it would. She was expecting him to tell her how much he loved her, call him his light, and be so happy she had taken him back. Anything but this. Violet had to avert her eyes, look down at his still clad chest to avoid his eyes. Those black limitless pools filled with concern and judgment and love for her. That wasn't fair. He didn't get to be like that. Not when Violet was trying to remember the feel of his mouth against hers, and nothing else. Nothing sad, mean, or horrible. Just how perfect, how complete they felt when they were together like this.

"I don't know Tate. Habit? Maybe I just lost control. I want clarity; I want things to be defined. Being like we are, ghosts trapped in this hell hole, things aren't exactly cut and paste. So I did something that I understood, that made things crystal clear again. Cutting…" Violet sighed, pushing Tate off of her so they could sit next to each other on her bed. This wasn't a conversation to be having with her legs still wrapped around his waist. Violet noticed Tate took no offence to being pushed away. In fact he almost looked happy, like this was something he had wanted. Did he think the big 'here is where we stand' speech was about to happen? Of course this wasn't about to happen. What kind of shit was this? "Cutting has always given me what I need. At first I thought that was ice cold clarity. I thought what I needed was to sharpen the edge. But it wasn't." Violet reached out, touching Tate's cheek. Oh god, she loved him. She loved him for everything that he was, the darkness that everyone knew and the light that Violet had found inside him. For all the things that he was and all the things he wasn't, all the pain he caused and all the joy he had brought. "Clarity wasn't what it brought me. It brought me you. It brought us back together." Tate smiled brightly, his cheek pressing into Violet's hand. Violet was talking without thinking about what she was saying. All she heard was the words as they came tumbling out her mouth. "Light would be nothing without darkness. And this light happens to love the darkness. Tate, I love you. For right now, please, let that be enough."

Tate looked confused for a second longer before he decided she was right. Violet could see it in his eyes the moment before his lips crashed against hers again. The two eternal teenagers gave over to their hormones and their lust, tearing each other's clothing off as fast as they could. It was clear there was no patient, loving make up. There would be no sweet and gentle love making; they were both too far gone for that. Violet needed this. She could never make herself feel like this. Her fingers, curling and twisting inside her couldn't fill her the way Tate could. Violet remembered the first time they had slept together, Violet thought Tate was going to split her in half. When Tate filled her, there was no room inside her for anything besides him. The thought made Violet shiver under his fingers. She was going crazy waiting for him to get all his clothes off, moaning in anticipation of what was about to happen. Violet no longer simply _wanted _to be with Tate. She needed it. Five years without this, how did she survive?

"Fuck me." Violet ground out, pressing her hips up into his. Tate hissed in Violet ear, shoving his boxers down just far enough to free his hard on before slamming it inside her with enough force to send the bed crashing into the wall. He stilled for a moment, both of them lost in the wonder of their bodies finally together again. All of Violet's confusion, all her anger and pain and betrayal, was suddenly gone. There was no room left inside her for it. All there was Tate. And Violet was fine with that. For the first time in half a decade Violet remembered what it felt like to be something other than despondent and angry. Maybe he was right, that they were made for each other. Two very different halves that made a completely fucked up whole. Neither of them was really all that normal anyway. Why should they suddenly have to have a normal relationship?

"I love you, Violet." God, that felt good to hear. It had been so long since he had said it and she had wanted to hear it. Before she had the chance to say anything, if she would have said anything, Tate gripped the sheets on either side of her and pulled out of her hot slit just to slam himself back in again and again. They were a frenzy of thrusts, kisses, moans and bites. Violet wasn't sure what was going on, one moment he was on top, the next she was. Somehow they ended up on the bed, against the wall. It was pure animalistic passion, something Violet missed from Tate. While he loved her, he wasn't afraid to be rough. On the floor, just before her third whole body orgasm, Violet reached up, raking her nails down Tate's back hard enough to draw blood. Tate groaned loudly, and as Violet's trembling walls collapsed in on him he, too, came, exploding inside her. Tate collapsed on top of Violet, resting his head against her breast for a moment as the pair panted. Violet reached down, stoking his golden curls as she tried to blink the stars from her eyes. Once he caught his breath Tate rolled off her, reaching up with one hand for a blanket from the bed and with his other pulling Violet right up against his body. Violet rested her head on his chest as his arm curled protectively around her. Sure, she still might hate him. She might not understand why he had done what he had done, and she would never forgive him for all the horrible deeds. But maybe forever was really too long a time to stay mad at him. Tate did love her. And Violet loved Tate. Sometimes it should be just that simple.

But they had an eternity to figure this all out, right? That was what this meant for them. That they would figure it all out eventually. They would have bumps in the road, sure. Didn't every relationship have problems? But somehow, some way, they could learn to deal with it. They could be happy. Violet was happy now, in Tate's arms. Her whole body ached in a happy was that made her feel very much alive. Even when she was alive Violet had always felt dead inside. But Tate, the ghost boy she loved, had found a way to make her feel so alive. If she was being honest with herself, brutally honest in a way she didn't like being, Tate was all she wanted. She could spend the rest of forever puzzling out why, but she would never really know. In matters of the heart, how could you logically understand that level of addiction, so consuming that one day Violet looked up and it was all she knew. Right then, Violet was content to say that maybe she had just lost control. And she liked it.

Violet felt her eyelids drooping as she snuggled even closer to Tate. He was always so warm. How was a dead boy always so hot? It didn't matter, Violet loved the way he always felt like there was a fire burning just under his skin, like if he wanted to he could peel it back and burn her. It was the only time she felt warm anymore, being close to Tate. They could just stay like that for a few days, here together on the floor behind a locked door. Her mind was racing ahead, about how they could spend the next week here in her room. Violet needed AT LEAST that long to get everything out of her system. Then they could head into the rest of the house, slowly bringing everyone up to speed that Tate and Violet were… talking again. That Violet was on the path to forgiving him. Chess in the attic first. Then maybe scrabble in Ben's old office or rummaging through the boxes in the basement. Just like old times, but better. And then, slowly, they could get around to talking about it. When they were ready for it they could bring the skeletons out of the closet and into the light. Tate could tell her all about killing his classmates and raping her mother, because by that time she could lean on him even as he scared her. But that didn't have to happen for years. Not now that they were finally back here.

"Violet?" Tate's sweet voice broke through Violet's little fantasy. She opened her eyes slowly and craned her neck to look up at him. Shit, he was beautiful. Leah's voice popped into Violet's head suddenly, telling her of course he was beautiful. The devil was once an angel and blah blah blah. Religious garbage that Violet still didn't believe in. But it kind of made sense with him. A devil, an angel, dark perfection. In her lust fogged brain Violet didn't care about shit like that. He'd changed, he had said so himself. She was allowed some happiness in the end, they both were, right? Wrong. "Violet, we need to talk. Thaddeus 2 can't come into this house. I need your help."

"Well, fuck."

**AN: I know, I know, enough with the author's notes. I suck. Lol. So I changed my mind about where this story is going and I need to make one TINY edit. Thaddeus 2's birthday isn't the day after all of this is occurring (because if you are paying attention all of the chapters so far have followed the course of one VERY LONG day. Well, they are ghosts. Long days are in the job description.) It's in three days. That gives me more time to build up this plot that is in my head. Sorry for the confusion. I LOVE YOU ALL LIKE TATE LOVES VIOLET! Pleasant Screams. V.T.**


	6. Author's Note

Author's Note:

I know I make these very often, but this is all I have to put up right now. I am very very sorry it has been so long since I updated. I am so sorry. I have not given up on this fic, and to be honest I have the next few chapters done. Sadly I have been dealing with RL, and have had a TON of things go wrong. I will get back to updating soon as things settle. I hope you all are still with me, and I hope there are people out there who still want to read my stuff. I love you all, and I can't say I am so sorry about this. I should have a new chapter up in a few days, as soon as I can sit down and type it all out. I LOVE YOU LIKE TATE LOVES VIOLET! Pleasant Screams!

Xoxo VT


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